


Martyr

by owlaholic68



Series: Noir!AU [7]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Betrayal, Blood and Torture, Electrocution, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Language, Serious Injuries, Sleep Deprivation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: Martyr (verb):To put to death for adhering to a belief, faith, or profession.To inflict agonizing pain on: torture.





	Martyr

**** There’s a bitter taste in Henry’s mouth as he wakes. 

The bitterness of betrayal, laying cold and heavy on his tongue. A faint throbbing in his head. Opening his eyes is like trying to force open a rusted cellar door, the hinges screaming and refusing to move. 

“He’s waking up.” A familiar voice. Henry hears a scuffle of feet. “Come on, I don’t have all night. I have to get back soon.” 

A bucket of icy water is dumped on his head. It hits harder than a punch, knocking all breath out of him in a gasp and a rush of adrenaline. When Henry stops shivering long enough to gather his concentration again, he looks up. 

Moreno stands in front of him. Moreno, who  _ did  _ this. Moreno, who lied to him, who kidnapped him, who  _ betrayed  _ him, who betrayed all of them. Henry snarls and starts forward, but is stopped by rough rope around his wrists and ankles binding him to a thick metal chair. “How dare you-”

“Come on now, don’t be like that.” Moreno seems almost jovial. He snags a folding chair from a corner and sets it up in front of Henry, sitting backwards in it and resting his chin on the top of the seat. “We don’t have to do this, Henry. You know what my plan is. You know what I want. So just tell me what I need to know.”

“No.”

“Really?” He seems more curious than taunting. “I know you, Henry. You’re not stupid. You’re not a fighter.” 

He draws a knife and Henry shrinks back. Moreno’s right: he’s not a fighter. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t try. That doesn’t mean that he can’t stay resilient. He hasn’t gotten this far in life by giving up as soon as the going gets bad. He might not be a fighter, but he’s a survivor. 

Is he going to survive this? Maybe he’s not a survivor, he’s just stubborn. He can use that. 

Two hands grab his bare shoulders and hold them back against the chair. Accomplices, hired guns. He tries to look over his shoulder and see them, but he can’t make out anything in this semi-darkness, their faces in shadow. 

“I know how you are.” Moreno stands and towers over Henry, looming like a mountain lion to a trapped rabbit. “Weak. You’re not made for things like this, Henry.” 

He trails the knife down Henry’s bare chest. His shirt’s been removed at some point while he was unconscious. 

“Spineless.” A shallow cut from collarbone down to belly button. “Heartless.” A bloody X carved over his heart. Moreno chuckles. “Except with your boy, of course.” 

Henry bites his lip to stop himself from reacting. He just focuses on breathing, slowly and evenly, the cuts on his chest stinging with every movement. He can take this, he can handle whatever Moreno can throw at him. Physically, at least. But if he dares touch one hair on Arcade’s head-

“Brainless.” Moreno throws the knife to the side and punches him in the nose, breaking it with a sickening  _ crunch.  _

Henry leans forward and coughs, struggling not to choke on the blood streaming down his face. “Fuck you,” he mutters. “I’ll never tell you anything.” 

Moreno stares down at him, then laughs. He turns away and waves to one of his minions. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

* * *

Is it tomorrow? 

He dozes for an instant, head lolling backward, pain fading to the background in a fuzz of static. 

“Hey!” One of his guards slaps him in the face. Henry jolts awake and coughs, his throat dry, every breath scraping like nails on a piece of plastic. But it’s no use asking for some water: he’s already tried, and gotten a curt response: “if you cooperate”. So there’s really no point in wasting his energy to ask again. 

He’s no stranger to sleep deprivation, though it’s usually by accident. A long experiment, a series of failed hypotheses pushing him to work harder, to keep going until he finally succeeds. There’s always the knowledge that once he succeeds, sleep will come along with victory. Well, the slumber at the end of this might be deeper than usual.

One time, though, fear had forced him to stay awake for days. Running from the Enclave, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, sitting awake facing the door of tucked-away motel rooms with gun in hand. His sleepless week had ended with him nodding off at the wheel and startling awake to Arcade screaming and tugging at his sleeve, and it was only Henry’s panic-induced reflexes that had let them narrowly avoid an accident. 

Adrenaline is not doing much right now to keep him going, though. If anything, mild shock is starting to set in. Moreno had apparently given the men guarding him instructions to do whatever they pleased, because they’re currently taking turns stabbing him. 

It’s going great. It’s been a  _ wonderful  _ day for Henry. 

* * *

When Moreno finally returns, Henry is a little worse for wear, though halfway through the oh-so-fun stab session, they had started stitching him back up, though badly. He keeps his eyes shut against a churning nausea from blood loss. His guards allow this, though they kick him every once in a while to make sure he’s not falling asleep. He’s not. He’s trying to figure out how to get out of this. 

“Changed your mind yet?” Moreno asks casually, like he’s asking what Henry wants for dinner. 

Speaking aloud to answer this question would be a waste. Henry opens his eyes and glares instead. He doesn’t one-hundred-percent trust his voice not to shake. 

“Aw, Henry, come on.” Moreno shrugs and reaches behind a table, hefting a sledgehammer to his shoulder. Henry swallows hard. “Well, it’s your choice.” He gives it a few practice feints before swinging it in a wide arc down onto Henry’s left knee. 

Henry passes out for a second, he thinks. That, or he is  _ really  _ going into shock now. Moreno gives him just enough time to catch his breath before repeating the action on his right side. Even if Henry manages to break free of his bonds, he’s not going to be able to run, let alone walk, let alone move his legs without screaming. 

He’s had worse, he decides. He’s gotten shot before, on the rare off-base missions he used to participate in. The bullet had gone into his stomach, too. Very painful. Was it as painful as this? Probably not. He’ll pretend that it was, just to keep himself distracted and optimistic. He used to be pessimistic, cranky and stubborn and constantly squabbling with his coworkers. But he’s a different man now, a more patient man, one who can overcome failure. He hopes. 

He’s had worse. Probably. 

“Hm.” Moreno frowns down at him. “Really, Henry? I take back what I said yesterday about you not being stupid. Now, do you have anything to tell me, or should we keep going?”

“I have something to tell you,” Henry croaks.

“Yeah?” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

Moreno grins wide. He shifts the sledgehammer off his shoulder. Henry flinches, but Moreno only moves to set it aside. “I see. Maybe I was wrong about you, Henry. You  _ are  _ a fighter.” 

* * *

Moving is not a good idea. Moreno left hours ago, maybe. It’s starting to get difficult, telling how much time has passed. There are no windows, no clocks. 

Moving his legs hurts. Moving his torso too much stings, the pain a faint crackle under his skin. Moving his head doesn’t hurt, but Henry refrains from doing it anyways. He doesn’t want to look down at his hands. Damn it, Moreno knows that Henry  _ needs  _ his hands to work. 

To distract himself from the dull throb of pain, Henry tries to distract himself, tries to think about anything besides his current situation. He’ll investigate the two henchmen guarding him. He’s always been good at picking people apart.

Two men. Why didn’t Moreno hire any women? The two men are burly and strong-looking, but it would have been more reliable to hire women for this kind of delicate job. They’re usually better trained in matters of psychological torture and pain management. They get smart instead of brute. Smart would  _ not  _ be a word he would use to describe these two men. Henry doesn’t really trust either of these chucklefucks to tell the sharp edge of a knife from the handle, let alone to keep him alive. But he does have to admit that both seem eager to follow orders. Ah, that’s it.

A smile flits across his face. He remembers two gals from Granite’s team back at Navarro. Stephanie and Kim, the heavy and the sharpshooter, respectively. Stephanie almost got court-martialed for decking a superior officer, some high-up CO that had tried to use his influence to order her to betray Granite. Kim had been waiting outside the door and, upon hearing the commotion and entering the room, had joined in the fight. It was only Granite’s quick thinking and his tech expert’s quick hacking skills that had allowed them to escape without consequences. Something about a conspiracy the CO was trying to drum up to sabotage the Enclave. 

Either way, it proved that both women were smart and willing to disobey orders if it served them. Every woman they knew in the Enclave was the same way, down to Daisy and Maria. Strong-willed, quick-thinking, crafty. For Moreno, this would make them hard to trust for something like this. 

It’s why Henry is very glad that he had the forethought to make out his will a few weeks ago. He had been worried, a small burr of paranoia that had stuck to him. The same day he had finalized Arcade’s adoption paperwork, he had gotten his will in order. He didn’t have much to do, but he did have one specific reason for this:

Carla. The private detective who had brought the Enclave crashing down a few years ago. He had put a clause in the first part of his will stating that if he was to perish under any sort of mysterious circumstance, she was to be the one to investigate. Carla is the epitome of the kind of women that Henry knows, that Moreno fears. If anyone can piece together what has happened to him, it’s her. 

She’s going to be the one to get revenge, albeit probably unknowingly, for him. Henry bursts into hysterical chuckles. The two guards nervously side-eye him. How ironic. He’s going to be trusting her with this, when he doesn’t even know if he can trust her with anything! For all he knows, she could hate him, and refuse to take the case. For all he knows, she could be dead too. 

No, Henry’s not dead yet. He takes a deep breath and calms himself down. But it’s hard to concentrate on any one thing when his brain is a mess and his body is even worse. All he has to do now is wait. Wait until Moreno comes back. Wait to find an opening. 

* * *

“Arcade misses you.” Moreno strolls in this time. He sheds his winter jacket on the way.

“Pity he’ll never see me again.” Henry decides upon a new tactic: if he can’t convince Moreno to stop this nonsense, he might as well make him feel bad about it. Haunt him while he’s still alive. “He just lost his parents. Now he’s going to lose me too. Who’s going to take care of him now?” He scoffs, contempt edging into his voice. “Not you.”

“Well, as I’ve said so many times now, it doesn't have to be like this.” Moreno sighs. “Always so stubborn, Henry.” Like all Henry did was insist upon buying skim milk instead of 2%.

Henry is dizzy. From blood loss, dehydration, sleep deprivation, starvation, any number of things. This dizziness is accompanied by a sense of irritation and frustration. What does he have to lose? He might as well annoy Moreno as much as he can. “Better stubborn than pathetic. You ever have problems looking in a mirror, Moreno? You ever regret fucking  _ doing  _ this?” 

This makes Moreno pause, back to him. Then he whirls, fury in his eyes. “Shut the  _ fuck  _ up! Unless the words out of your mouth are the ones I want to hear, I don’t want to  _ hear  _ your shit!” 

“Fine.” Henry bites his lip. “Just know that you have lost all respect in my eyes. You used to be my  _ brother,  _ Moreno. Now you’re just a coward.”

* * *

There’s a moment, a pinprick in a haze of pain, where Henry knows that he’s going to die. Maybe not right in this moment, but he  _ will not  _ give Moreno what he wants, and he will die in here. He doesn’t have a choice anymore. 

“Do you have anything to tell me?” Moreno is blurry now, Henry’s cracked glasses in his hand. He sets them aside, then takes out a long sharp knife that glints even in Henry’s impaired vision. 

_ Yes,  _ he wants to say.  _ Please. Please stop,  _ he wants to beg. He wants to ask  _ why  _ and  _ how  _ and  _ will you give up if I refuse to help you.  _

_ Friends,  _ he wants to blurt, the word, his word, is stuffed into his mouth, straining to come out,  _ friends.  _ The irony doesn’t escape him. 

_ I _ _ hate you,  _ he yearns to scream,  _ I’m never going to be able to look you in the eyes again, just let me die so Carla can come and catch you like a rat in a trap.  _ But he doesn’t say any of that.

“Yeah.” Henry knows his voice is shaking, but he can’t stop himself from trembling. So much, he’s endured so much, is this going to be the thing to be  _ too  _ much? “Give me a paintbrush so I can paint  _ Starry Night  _ for you.” 

“Very funny. Why the fuck are you  _ doing  _ this, Henry?” Moreno sounds tired rather than angry now. “You really think that I want to do this too? Just give up, for fuck’s sake. What do you have to lose? Don’t you want to see your family again? Don’t you  _ miss  _ them?”

Do  _ they  _ miss  _ him?  _ He idly wonders if Judah sits up all night by the phone waiting for a call, if Johnson paces the living room with one eye on the door. He wonders Daisy drives around town searching all of his hiding spots. He wonders if Arcade-he stops wondering. It’s better not to think about that, less painful. 

“I’m doing this because I was not a good man in the Enclave. I’m trying to be a good man now, or at least a better one.” He’s going to die. The least he can do is die with integrity intact, even if his body is not.

* * *

“Hold on,” Henry slurs, his voice sounding warped in his one ear, as if he’s speaking underwater. 

“Yeah?” The guards had been ordered to do whatever necessary to get Henry to spill before Moreno’s return. “You wanna talk now?” 

Speaking takes an effort, but this is his one chance. “You’re gonn’ kill me if you put ‘em too close. Other one has to go on my other hand.” He weakly coughs. 

The man shrugs and moves one electrode from Henry’s shoulder to his arm. Perfect. What an idiot. “You’re the doctor, I guess.” He nods to the other guard. 

Henry closes his eyes and breathes deep. He’s not a young man. It won’t take much to fatally mess up his heart’s rhythm, especially now that he’s gotten them to move the current into a path that will almost certainly go through his heart. 

He’s going to die. He’s never going to see those he cares about again, those few precious people he’s accepted into his life. But he’s going to be a better man. 

Better to die a martyr than a coward. 

**Author's Note:**

> MmmMMMmmmmm this was one that just kind of wrote itself! I'm sorry Henry!! You do not have a Fun Time in this AU, where you're either on the run or dead! At least Carla will avenge you!


End file.
